Modern life. So much rush. So much pace. So much surface.
Tenderness can seem a luxury. Something for another time or someone else or a special scene in a movie.
How much do you allow tenderness to move you if it happens? You’ve really got to be ready for it, to notice and soften and receive it with your whole heart. Let your heart go big with it.
How much tenderness do you show yourself – your tired feet, your thirst, the crick in your neck, the ache in your heart?
Practice being tender with someone near and dear. Do it consciously. Step outside of a pattern of logistics or being right and offer up some seeing and some tender. Notice what happens.
Big things grow from tender places. The way we care for tender parts determines what grows. Get the coding right in the small whisper of hope or yearning or hurt or longing. Listen in. Offer a little of what’s needed. Watch beauty grow in your life.
So much in so little.
It’s lived through so much, been worn and washed and tossed up here and there.
Deep down below the currents, in the cold, dark, wet place, aonic whisper of something more, of warmth, of glow, of being heated through with a love that doesn’t go anywhere and cannot be escaped.
Even hopes and dreams washed.
Transparent, but far from brittle.
Transparent, amping the sunlight through curls that see because they know; that touch gently in to tend the hurt, touch the untouchable, with such delicately filtered love.
Tiny part of the whole of the sun. So needed right here and right now.
Extended, reaching out from the anonymity of the dark stem.
So far out.
And so beautiful in that fragile reach, at once so tender and time-worn. Reaching into places barely there but yearning to be seen and held and fuse with the golden burn of the orb.
Burning on. Burning through.
Flying hammocks; lifted, lighted by a breeze. Strong in their place, in their part of it all.
by Deborah Jackson